


Garden Spells

by Angel_of_the_Dawn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All the synonyms for sweet, Almost no conflict, Apples, Auras, Books, Bookshop, Domesticated Demon, Existential stuff, First Kiss, Fluff, Gardens, House Hunting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mushy, Poetry, Post-Canon, Weddings, apple trees, housekeeping, implied sex, soft, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_the_Dawn/pseuds/Angel_of_the_Dawn
Summary: Anathema visits London. Crowley and Aziraphale learn stuff about themselves and the world. Fluff happens. I get to create a new life for two lovable idiots.





	1. Purple Puzzle

**Author's Note:**

> *Garden Spells is also the name of a book by Sarah Addison Allen, which will be featured in this work.
> 
> *I have read or own all the books mentioned.
> 
> *The chapters are more like vignettes. That format works for my writing style and schedule.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema takes a trip to a certain London bookstore and is surprised.

One month after the world failed to end, Anathema was in London for the day. Early that morning, she had left Newt sitting at her kitchen table, in front of her laptop, muttering to himself and clenching both fists in his hair. He was job hunting. Much to Anathema's relief, the laptop had not exploded when he tentatively punched a word into the search bar. However, the internet, or the computer, or the world, wasn't making it easy for him. She planted a kiss on the top of his head, told him there was food in the fridge, and not to expect her home before dark. Hopefully, by then, he would have accomplished something. (She didn't say that last part out loud.)

Anathema was on a mission. She intended to find the old Soho bookshop that Madam Tracy had mentioned to her when she found out Anathema was an honest to goodness, real live witch. Madam Tracy had been sure the owner, A. Z. Fell, had an extensive collection of occult classics. Anathema was very interested in adding to her small collection of witchy works. However, she had sworn off books of prophecy and was hoping to find something more practical for living firmly in the present. An antique book of garden spells or a witch's guide to housekeeping shortcuts would be nice. Perhaps she might find a book with a tried and true recipe for boosting confidence. Newt could use a little push before her visa expired. She didn't want to leave England or him, and she was pretty certain he would be sorry to see her go, if his aura was anything to go by.

Ah! There was the shop, just ahead. "A. Z. Fell, Bookseller" was painted in tarnished gold letters on burgundy trim that had seen better days. The name tickled at the back of Anathema's brain, but she couldn't figure out why. She'd had a hard time finding the place as it didn't seem to want to be found. There were zero hits from any internet search that she had tried. No one in Soho seemed to be able to give her proper directions either. No adults any way. She had finally asked a boy with an ice cream cone and a mischievous grin. He pointed down the street to the intersection a block away. The shop was jutting oddly out from a corner, into the stream of cars and pedestrians that parted on either side of it. It looked remarkably like it belonged on the set of Harry Potter. She glanced down to thank the boy, but he was already gone. 

Anathema walked thoughtfully through the midday press of people on their own personal missions. There was definitely something strange about the bookshop ahead. She felt something that suggested the shop had grown up in that spot and had put down deep roots, like a venerable old oak. Weirdly though, the throngs of passing pedestrians appeared to take very little notice of it. Anathema came to the end of the sidewalk, where she would have to cross the street to the shop, and stopped. She stared across at the windows but could not see into the store over the the stacks of books piled on the inside sills. These were obviously less valued works that the owner wanted to move quickly. In the empty space over the books, rising up to the ceiling, Anathema could see a light purple glow. "That's unconventional for a bookshop that sells old and rare books," she thought. Maybe it had something to do with the owner's taste for the occult.

Finally deciding to cross the street, Anathema decisively strode up to the peeling burgundy door and turned the knob. It was locked. What? It was peak shopping hours. What business person in their right mind would be closed right now? Didn't they realize there were hordes of people out on the street willing to fling their money at any decent shop keeper as a form of stress relief? After a quick search Anathema found the posted hours of the shop, hand written and taped to the inside of one of the glass panes on the top half of the door. 

Open daily, except Sunday: 10 am - noon, 3 pm - 5pm  
Closed for lunch: noon - 3 pm

"It isn't even noon yet," she grumbled. "Who takes a lunch break that long?" The time was 11:45, to be exact. She couldn't see into the shop from the door either, because every pane, except the top row, had something taped on it, inside the door. There were multiple circulars for community events and lost pet ads. Anathema decided to knock on the door. Through the top panes, she could see the purple glow fade but the light did not dim. No one answered the door or made a sound. Curiouser and curiouser. 

Not realizing that she was following in Sergeant Shadwell's footsteps, Anathema crouched down and slowly lifted the tarnished brass flap of the mail slot. She pressed one bespectacled eye to the gap. At first glance, the shop appeared empty, with dust motes dancing in the slanted morning light that poured in through the tops of the windows. (The whole shop happened to be facing east like the point of a compass.) Anathema could see the layers of shelving along most of the back walls, which contained a few nooks and alcoves as well as an open door that appeared to lead to another book lined room, perhaps an office. There were a few straight backed chairs next to lamp tables scattered about, presumably for patrons to sit and browse, but they didn't look very comfortable. A small movement to the right caught her eye. 

There was a man behind an oak counter. To his right was a massive and ornate antique cash register. In one hand he held a fountain pen, the other hand was resting on a large open book that looked like a ledger of some kind. He had just lifted his curly blonde head, with the face of a middle aged cherub, to gaze across the room. Anathema followed the path of his eyes to the left side of the shop. Between two windows was a roll top desk. Tucked into the corner by the furthest window sat a plump, squishy arm chair with a faded chintz slipcover. Curled in the chair was another man, clad in black from chin to shin, with fiery red hair that appeared to have a life of its own. His body was turned to the light streaming in from the upper half of the nearby window. He looked very much like a cat, or maybe a snake, sunning itself. She couldn't see his eyes. They were covered with dark glasses.

Anathema slowly lowered the mail flap, rocked back on her heels, and stood up. "Well, well, well," she thought. "Not consenting bicycle repair men after all. Consenting bookshop owners instead." It seems their paths would cross again. She was not giving up on visiting the shop, even if there were clear signs that customers were being thwarted. She would go have lunch, wander around for a bit, then come back in time for the opening at three.


	2. Quiet Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes a nap then wakes up. That's it.

Crowley showed up earlier than usual that day. It was 11:30 when Aziraphale heard the Bentley squeal to a stop across the street from the bookshop. He deliberately made a racket coming into the store, by swinging the door back and forth so the little bell at the top rang like like mad. Aziraphale took his sweet time coming out from the back room to stand in the center of the room like a small sun. "Oh, it's you Crowley!" As if he didn't know. "Is it lunch time already?" He knew the answer to that as well. Crowley swung the door shut, then orbited the interior of the store looking for customers to scare away. Aziraphale patiently waited through the ritual. Crowley snapped his fingers to lock the door and closed the distance between them to about five feet. Looking up at the ceiling with unwarranted interest, he said, "I don't feel like lunch today, angel. M'tired."

"That's okay, Crowley." The angel smiled. "I've got plenty to keep me busy in here today, and we don't actually need to eat. Why don't you rest over there for a while." He gestured to a back corner near a window. Crowley was mildly surprised to see an oversized armchair comfortably sitting in a sunbeam, the epitome of warmth and coziness. He hadn't seen it before. He turned to look at the angel who looked directly back, a picture of innocence. Crowley couldn't stop himself from grinning. "It'll do, angel. It'll do." Then he sauntered over to the chair to test out its restful properties. 

Aziraphale was pleased with himself. He puttered around, humming softly, pretending not to pay attention to Crowley making himself comfortable. It was a complicated process involving multiple minute adjustments of his long limbs and small grunts of frustration. Just when he seemed to be settled, he sat up, took off his shoes, then curled up sideways with his stocking feet tucked into the cushy back of the chair and his head pillowed on the rounded arm nearest the window. There was a small sigh, then stillness and quiet. 

Aziraphale worked on his accounts while Crowley dozed. The minutes passed quickly. When he heard an impatient knock on the door, Aziraphale sucked in his breath and held it for a count of ten. He slowly brought his head up to look across the room at the sleeping demon. He just as slowly let himself breathe again when he saw that Crowley hadn't budged. He didn't even look at the door. No one could get in or see in, why should he?

Since their world seemed to go on spinning no matter how much of a mess Crowley and Aziraphale made of things, they had relaxed into a pleasant pattern of doing whatever they wanted. Most days Crowley showed up to take the angel to lunch, or brought take out, even if he rarely ate. After lunch, they went back to the shop and Crowley napped on the back room couch, while Aziraphale read to himself in a nearby chair. Promptly at three, the shop door would unlock itself. The demon would take the hint and shove off with a sassy grin and a smart alec remark. 

On Sundays, they would go to the park and feed the ducks, take a drive in the country, or go to a show, depending on the weather. Those evenings, they shared a bottle or two of wine, in the back room of the shop. Tongues loosened, they nattered on about anything and everything, teasing and punning until they became all too aware of each others eyes. Then the silences grew longer. Eventually, Crowley would jump up and say, "Time to go water the plants." As he got in his car, he waved and grinned at Aziraphale , who was standing in the doorway of the shop, surrounded by a halo of light. About five minutes later, when the loneliness kicked in, they each let out matching sighs.

Occasionally, Crowley would decide to change things up a bit. He didn't want to be too predictable after all. No one could accuse him of being a domesticated demon. Did such a thing even exist? He might not show up for a day or two. Aziraphale would try to act like he had never been gone, when he finally did return. However, Crowley knew his unpredictability irritated Aziraphale now more than it used to. He would bring a box of eclairs, or Aziraphale's favorite chocolate truffles, and slip them behind the counter in the main shop area. He didn't give them to the angel personally, because he was likely to be favored with a cold stare and some nonsense about good grace being bought. However, the empty box was usually lying in the bin the next day. After three days absence, they both tended to get rather snippy with each other, being slightly offended that the other had not tried to bridge the gap sooner. Crowley was smart enough not to be absent that long too often. He knew deep down that Aziraphale wasn't going anywhere. He was the one that had to get comfortable with the idea of admitting to the need for permanence. 

An hour and a half passed. The sun had moved past its zenith and and the shop was falling into twilight, even though it was still early afternoon. Aziraphale was emptying a box of donated books onto the counter when Crowley woke up, stretched, and yawned.  
"Have a nice nap, Rip Van Winkle?"  
"Not bad, angel."  
"Cute socks. I didn't think you would wear them."  
"Oh. Well, you know, waste not, want not."   
"Turn on a few lamps, will you. It's getting hard to see what I'm reading.   
"People will see in."  
"What will they see?"

Crowley sat up straight and looked around at each window as if he'd never seen them before. There were just enough books stacked on each deep sill to block the interior view from the street level. The spines were facing the windows. From the inside there was no way to tell what the titles were. Crowley bent down to slip on his shoes then stood and walked over to the nearest window. He plucked a book from the top of one stack.  
"The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart by Lawrence Block. This isn't exactly your thing, angel. What are these books for?"  
"They are for the express purpose of preventing prying eyes. The books in the windows were donated by kind and generous people who wanted to get rid of the books that were cluttering up their lives. Who better to donate them to, but a poor bookseller who must be in constant need of new inventory?"  
"No! Really?"  
"Yes. Really. See the books on the counter? Those were on the doorstep when I arrived this morning."  
"The sills are already full. What will you do with them?"  
"I will pull out the bottom books from each stack and put a couple of these newer ones on top. Then I will put the old books in this box. Tomorrow I will deliver it to the charity shop down the street. You can help me."  
"Can I have a cup of tea first?"  
"No. It won't take long."  
"Yessss. Masster."  
"Cheeky."


	3. Never Judge a Book By Its Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Crowley and Aziraphale make uncharacteristic reading choices.

Aziraphale handed Crowley a stack of books to transfer to the window sills on the left side of the shop. When their hands met, there was a small crackle and spark. "Ow! What was that!" Aziraphale pulled back his hand and looked at Crowley with a crease in his brow. Crowley had gone stiff and poker faced.  
"Dunno. Wasn't me."  
"I'm not blaming you, dear boy. It's happened to me before, usually touching inanimate objects in the winter. I just didn't know flesh touching flesh could produce the same result."  
"Flesh. Um. Yeah. Okay. I'm just gonna take care of these books."  
"Right. I'll be over there if you need me."

Poor Crowley and Aziraphale. They were highly intelligent beings, but quite ignorant, nevertheless. Their lack of omniscience, omnipresence, and an elementary human education had left gaping holes in their knowledge base. They had never been school children forced to sit through science lectures on static electricity. They had never known the pleasure of rubbing a balloon in their hair to make it stand on end. They had never picked up bits of paper with an electrically charged plastic comb. Worst of all, they never had siblings or playmates to sneak up behind them, after dragging their feet on the carpet, for the thrilling game of zap and run. Plus, they didn't watch educational children's television. Aziraphale never had a television and Crowley mostly watched late night talk shows, for the news. Crowley had hung out with both Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Edison, but not for personal edification. Most of Aziraphale's former companions were more likely to experiment with words and sound than the elements. 

Crowley worked quickly, pulling and replacing books on the window sills. He would take a glimpse at the cover of each one as he held it, to see if there was anything interesting. In his flat, he had a collection of Cold War spy novels, organized in sleek metallic drawers that rolled under his bed. Book shelves didn't fit the flat's minimalist aesthetic. Crowley liked to read himself to sleep at night. It helped to keep unwanted thoughts at bay. Aziraphale didn't know. Not because Crowley was hiding it, but because he wasn't one to volunteer personal information. 

Across the room, Aziraphale was taking more time with each book. He examined the art work on the covers, read the blurbs, and flipped through each book to see if the previous owner had left anything in the pages. Once he had found a delightful children's book about a leprechaun named McGillicuddy McGotham. It had been full of pressed four leaf clovers. Even though the book wasn't particularly valuable, he kept it upstairs with his other especially loved volumes. 

When Crowley finished his side of the room, he transferred the books he had removed from the window sills to the donation box. Only one was held back, The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden. You may think this an odd choice for a demon. Normally you would be right, but this specific demon was fond of looking through the foxed pages of naturalist books containing water color prints of plants and birds. He knew more about earth's flora than any other demon in existence. All right, he was the only demon in existence that knew Anything At All about earth's flora. The book was placed on the lamp table next to the comfy chair, for later. 

"Time to put the kettle on," Crowley said. He took the back stairs up to Aziraphale's flat, two at a time. "Thank you!" Aziraphale yelled after him, just because he could, now that heaven and hell weren't keeping tabs. "Yeah, yeah." Crowley yelled back. 

Aziraphale turned back to the book he had in his hand, Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen. Aziraphale's secret vice was cheesy romance novels. He had read a few of the books now sitting on the window sills, on the days when Crowley didn't show up. Even though he rarely indulged in anything explicit, he was a sucker for angst and pining. A happy ending was a must. This book looked like it actually had an interesting plot to go along with the romance. Plus, the blurb promised magical food, and a garden with a very special apple tree. Perhaps he could start it today, but it would need a different cover so Crowley wouldn't tease him about reading "lowbrow" literature.

Aziraphale took the cover off Garden Spells and put it on one of the jacket-less window books that was a similar size. Next, he searched for an innocuous looking cover from among the shelved works that were actually for sale. He found the perfect one, suitably sedate and mundane, Who Owns the Mountains: Classic Selections Celebrating the Joys of Nature by Henry Van Dyke. Crowley wouldn't look twice. Aziraphale transferred the cover to Garden Spells, put the book behind the counter, and headed upstairs for some tea.


	4. Tea For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it sounds like.

Crowley sat at the kitchenette table with his steaming mug. He had taken off his sunglasses and was looking at his phone when Aziraphale came upstairs. Crowley had typed "sparks when touching someone" into the search engine and was reading all about static electricity for the first time. It was fascinating. He didn't take long to figure out that what happened downstairs was because the humidity that day was unusually low for London in the fall, and the bookshop had warmed up in the sun. Aziraphale had built up a charge simply by shuffling across the carpet on his way to hand Crowley the books. Crowley grinned and wondered if he could recreate the effect. Of course the most shocking result could be had by touching Aziraphale's exposed skin, of which there was very little. His face was out of the question. It would have to be a hand. That could be awkward. He needed to think about this some more. 

When Aziraphale entered the room, Crowley put down the phone. He always gave Aziraphale his full attention, which should have told at least one of them something, if they would have actually noticed it. What Aziraphale did notice was that Crowley had put another mug on the table directly across from him. The angel pulled out the chair on that side and sat down, puffing out a little breath.  
"Thanks for getting my tea too, Crowley, you didn't have to."  
"I know that, angel." (Smug grin)

Aziraphale took a careful sip of the hot liquid then wrinkled his nose. There was something wrong, but he was too polite to say anything right away. He tried another sip. Nope, definitely not tea. He looked down into the mug and his eyes widened. "Crowley!" He sputtered. "You...you...you Demon!" The mug was filled with scalding hot water from the kettle but no tea had touched it. Score one point for the demon. Aziraphale glared at Crowley who was obviously enjoying himself. He got up to get a teabag, and the biscuit tin, while he was at it.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Aziraphale dunking biscuits in his tea and Crowley holding his cup under his chin, so he could bask in the steam. They each got up to refill their mugs and sat back down. Aziraphale had both hands on the table, wrapped around his mug, when he reminded Crowley that tomorrow would be Sunday. Did he have any ideas about what they should do? Crowley admitted he was all out of ideas for the moment. He put his cup down, propped one elbow on the table, and held his chin in his hand What did Aziraphale want to do?

Aziraphale start listing possibilities, moving his hands while he talked to emphasize what he was saying. Crowley remembered his silly plan to shock Aziraphale and became distracted by the hands. How could he touch them without being weird about it? Aziraphale had nice hands. They were solid and sturdy, but well cared for. Come to think of it, so was the rest of him. Crowley's eyes moved from the hands to the jacket, it looked like the same one from which he had miracled away the blue paint. Aziraphale had broad shoulders, didn't he? Crowley's eyes continued their journey to the shirt front where Aziraphale's chest was slowly rising and falling. He didn't notice that the talking had stopped. His gaze rested on the bowtie for a moment and softened with amusement. Next stop the lips. It occurred to Crowley that it might be possible to give someone an electrically charged kiss. 

The lips spoke. "Crowley? Are you all right?" Crowley's eyes quickly moved up to meet Aziraphale's. He leaned back in his chair. "Oh. Yeah. I was just thinking." Aziraphale's eyes actually twinkled. "Did you enjoy it?" The demon's mouth dropped open in surprise, then just as quickly clamped shut again. Aziraphale was obviously flirting with him. He felt his face flush. To cover his confusion he grabbed a biscuit from the tin, vigourously dunked it in his tea and bit it in half. Then he grimaced, remembering that he hated biscuits. Aziraphale smiled into his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Many thanks to all those who have given kudos.
> 
> *This story is not over, but it may be a few days before I drop the next chapter. My real life has been neglected because of my obsession with writing this. So I need to play catch up.
> 
> * I'm changing the rating to Teen, just in case. It may go as high as Mature, but there will be no smut. Sorry.


	5. Words Are More Powerful Even Than Magic. (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy Bysshe Shelley casts a spell on Crowley.

Aziraphale was putting the tea things away when Crowly went back downstairs. The demon retrieved The Country Diary of An Edwardian Lady and went into the back room where he was more comfortable removing his glasses. He flopped onto the battered old sofa and began to examine the book. This one was printed in 1977, but it had the look and feel of a much older book. The pages were almost as heavy as cardstock and were of an antique cream color, a lot like the color of Aziraphale's jacket. The book was a facsimile of Edith Holden's 1906 nature diary. It took the reader through every month and season of year in the countryside of Warwickshire. There were water color prints of seasonal wildflowers and birds, poetry, mottoes, and the authors notes on her garden and walks through the countryside. 

Now that Crowley was out of a job as a demon, he was free to be keenly interested in Earth and living things without fear of personal destruction. He was especially interested in being able to recognize and name the plants and animals he and Aziraphale saw on their walks. In fact, Crowley's thirst for knowledge of all kinds was increasing daily. He always had been full of questions, that's how he got in trouble with heaven to begin with. He didn't understand why he and Aziraphale were free to do as they pleased, but he figured he should take advantage of the freedom as long as it was available. 

"Ah. There you are," said Aziraphale, popping his head around the corner. "I'll just go get my book too." It only took a few seconds for him to retrieve the disguised copy of Garden Spells and settle into his favorite chair, opposite Crowley. Soon they were both thoroughly absorbed in what they were reading. 

Crowley unaccountably found himself reminded of Aziraphale with every turn of a page. The soft water colors, neat hand lettering, plump sparrows, fuzzy yellow catkins, snakes, crabapples, and downy thistle seeds, all took on layered significance. There were quotes from Shakespeare, Burns, Shelley, and others, that invoked the spirits of nature and the earth. The sensual beauty of wildflowers, vines, and leaves, spoke of the ancient magic of fertility, rebirth, and new beginnings. Crowley turned to a Poem by Shelley, under the current month of November and read about the Wild West Wind of Autumn:

"Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere,  
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!  
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is,  
What if my leaves are falling like its own?  
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies  
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,  
Sweet though in sadness, Be thou, Spirit fierce,  
My Spirit! Be thou me impetuous one!  
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,  
Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth;  
And by the incantation of this verse,  
scatter, as from an unexpected hearth  
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!  
Be through my lips to unawakened earth  
The trumpet of a prophesy! O Wind,  
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

Shelley may or may not have been a wizard or a prophet. His words may or may not have had magical properties. One thing is for certain. They had a powerful effect on Crowley. He looked across at Aziraphale and realized that they had just been biding time since the end of the world kerfluffle. What were they waiting for? If they embraced the wild, impetuous, beckoning spirit of autumn, would they live to see the rich wonderful spring of a new life that produced lush growth? He hoped so. 

Hope was potent stuff. Crowley may have been a little drunk on it. His thoughts began to wander down a familiar garden path with Aziraphale by his side. In his mind, the air was full of the scent of blooming flowers. Insects hummed, birds sang, and butterflies fluttered. In the middle of the garden was an apple tree. Crowley plucked a perfectly ripe apple from the highest branch he could reach and turned to hand it to Aziraphale.

The front door unlocked with a loud click. It was three o'clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) A quote from Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett.
> 
> *Yes I said I needed to get other stuff done. I did... A little. This is becoming an addiction. I don't want to quit.


	6. Remembrance of Things Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema reminisces while waiting for the bookshop to open.

Anathema was tired and ready to go home, but it was only 2:30 and she still hadn't visited the bookstore, her whole reason for being in London. She decided to sit at a window table in the little eatery across the street from the shop. After ordering a coffee and an iced bun, she turned to gaze out the window. There was a soft glow of lamplight visible at the tops of the bookstore windows, but the strange purple glow was gone. Also the windows seemed visually different somehow, but she couldn't figure out what had changed.

Over the last couple of hours, she had plenty of time to recall her previous interactions with the two gentlemen in the shop. The first time was when they hit her with their car in the dark, the same car that was parked caddy-corner across the street right now. She hadn't noticed it this morning. When they dropped her off at her garden gate that night, she was still feeling shook up and very wary of the intentions of the two men. So, she focused her concentration on their aura's. The polite, gentlemanly blond's aura was a beautiful vibrant blue-green. The dark, skinny, rock-star wannabe had an aura of brilliant red-orange, the same color that school children use when they scribble a picture of fire. There was no menace in either aura. She had been relieved to hear the dark one say "Get in the car, angel." It meant she would have no need for the knife she carried in the top of her boot, for personal protection. 

When the men got in the car and drove off, she had seen their complementary auras merge into a lovely lilac glow that enveloped both of them. The same glow that she now realized she had also seen this morning, through the bookstore windows. It could only mean one thing. They shared a deep and abiding love, in spite of the mild bickering she witnessed while they drove her home. 

The next time she saw the two men was on the tarmac at Tadfield Air Force Base. They both looked a little worse for wear. The man in black had soot on his face and called her "book girl." He returned Agnes Nutter's prophecies, but the book had clearly been scorched by a fire. The blond was by his side through the whole surreal business with the antichrist, which was obviously where he belonged. When she asked who they were, there was some crazy story about a garden, an apple tree, and a serpent, an apparent reference to the Garden of Eden. As though she was expected to believe such nonsense. 

She had been relieved when the blond was gently shushed. However, she felt it was a little uncharitable to think he might be off his rocker. After all, some seriously wild shit had happened, and she and Newt were in the thick of it. Also, there actually was an anti-christ, four motorcycle riders of the apocalypse, and a giant devil who was not a dad. So, maybe the two men really were an angel and a demon from the Garden of Eden. If that were true, it seemed highly unlikely that they would now be living and working in a bookshop in Soho. According to Newt, though, highly unlikely should have been her middle name. Maybe he was right.

After the antichrist's true father had driven off with the child in the back seat, the angel-man introduced himself and his companion as Aziraphale (Oh! A. Z. Fell!) and Crowley, then asked if anyone needed a ride home. The demon-man rolled his eyes and said, "what would they ride in, angel?" The other one looked apologetic and replied, "So sorry. I forgot in all the excitement." They all dispersed to go their separate ways. The kids rode off on their bikes. Madame Tracy gave Anathema a piece of paper with her phone number on it and said, "Call me, dear." Then she and the man, who Anathema later found out was Sergeant Shadwell, sputtered off on a moped. Anathema and Newt went back to Newt's car and later passed Crowley and Aziraphale sitting on a bench at the bus stop. Newt thought maybe he should offer them a ride, but Anathema was sure they could take care of themselves.

That was the last time she had seen them, a little over a month ago. She and Madam Tracy had a good long talk and compared notes about the days preceding the apocalypse that never happened, but some questions were never answered. Some second hand information from Sergeant Shadwell didn't make any sense at all. Maybe she could fill in the gaps today. 

It was almost time for the store to reopen. Anathema paid her bill and walked across the street to wait outside. She spent the remaining few minutes checking out the titles of the books in the windows. They were mostly bestsellers and popular fiction, stuff you could find in any charity shop or swap meet. At the top of one stack was a book she'd never heard of before, Garden Spells. She had no idea what it was but sounded like her kind of book. It wouldn't hurt to ask to look at it.

At three o'clock, Anathema was standing at the door when she heard the lock turn over. She turned the knob, opened the door, and walked in.


	7. The Color of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cat is let out of the bag.

The bell over the door jangled. Anathema shut the door and stood just inside the shop for a few seconds, looking around. Aziraphale came walking sedately out of an opening at the back of the shop. "May I help you?" He paused. "Why, it's Anathema, isn't it?" He exclaimed. "It's a pleasure to see you again, my dear." 

Anathema strode forward with her right hand extended and firmly shook Aziraphale's hand. "It's good to see you too, Mr. Fell." (That was his real name, right?) "I didn't realize you were the same Mr. Fell who owned this bookshop when I decided to pay a visit. Madame Tracy recommended it to me." Anathema squinted at Aziraphale, noticing that his aura was no longer blue-green. It was now a light smoky amethyst. Something significant had created a permanent change in him. She, of course, had no notion of all the trials that Aziraphale and Crowley had experienced. He had no idea that Anathema could see auras, or even what that meant. 

"Ah, yes, Madame Tracy." Small cough. "How is the dear lady?"  
"She and Sergeant Shadwell have hooked up and are now sharing a small cottage in the Cotswolds." 

Aziraphale winced at the phrase "hooked up." Whatever happened to "Living Together?" It sounded so much more subtle. He would rather not think about the mechanics involved in Shadwell and Madame Tracy's relationship. "How lovely for them," he replied.

"How is Mr. Crowley?" Anathema asked, trying to sound as though she weren't intensely interested. 

"Why don't ask him yourself, book girl," drawled Crowley, as he detached himself from a shadowy corner where he had been watching and listening, waiting to make his escape. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he sauntered over to where Aziraphale and Anathema were standing. Before Anathema could get a fix on his aura, Crowley came forward to stand next to Aziraphale, shoulders almost touching. Without warning, a brilliant lilac colored aura unfurled from around the pair and spread out to fill every visible space. Anathema gasped and stepped back involuntarily. She stared at them for a moment. Then she slowly turned on the spot looking around the room in wonder. "It's beautiful." She whispered. "I've never seen anything like it."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. He turned to look at Crowley who had turned to look at him. Crowley's eyebrows were lifted above the rims of his glasses. He shrugged. Then he leaned in toward Aziraphale and said, sotto voce, "She is a Nutter, isn't she?"

"Hush, Crowley. Anathema, dear, are you feeling all right? Can I get you a glass of water?" Aziraphale queried. 

Anathema shook her head to clear the vision. She turned to the two men and tried to explain. "It's your combined auras. You've obviously loved each other a very long time. How long have you been together?"

Both Crowley and Aziraphale stared at Anathema in amazement. Both Crowley and Aziraphale held their breath. Both Crowley's and Aziraphale's cheeks flushed fire engine red. They did not look at each other. Aziraphale shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Crowley's face took on a blank shielded look. "Auras," he muttered, "dunno what you're talking about." Neither one answered the question.

Anathema was astonished. It wasn't possible that these two were clueless, was it? Surely they weren't complete idiots? Her mouth fell open. It wasn't often she couldn't think of something to say. It was Crowley who broke the silence. "Love to stay and chat, book girl, but I've got to go home and water my plants." Then he strode toward the door, looking so cool that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He opened the shop door and just kept walking to his car without shutting the door behind him. Anathema quickly focused her mind on him. Before he reached the Bentley, she could see that his personal aura had also changed. Instead of the former red-orange, it was now a shockingly bright hot pink. He was also trailing a long lilac wisp from the heel of one snakeskin boot, a remnant of the aura that had filled the bookstore. "Ciao!" Crowley yelled, just before he got in the car and drove off. Anathema was shaking with silent laughter when she turned back to Aziraphale and saw his face.

"Oh. Mr. Fell. I'm so sorry. If I had known. Really, it never occurred to me. Shit, I'm just making it worse. I hope I haven't caused a problem. Is there anything I can do? Maybe call him later to apologize and say it was a mistake, I was hallucinating?"

Aziraphale let out a sigh and went around her to close the door. "It's all right my dear. You did nothing wrong. Don't worry," he said with a small smile, "he'll be back."


	8. An Angel Weeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's eyes are opened.

Anathema explained to Aziraphale why she had come to London. He was very glad for the distraction and enthusiastically showed her his extensive collection of antique occult literature, most of which was not for sale. After about half an hour, she requested permission to carefully take notes from some of the volumes in which she was most interested. He graciously consented, letting her use his desk and providing her with a pair of white cotton gloves. Excusing himself, he returned to the room where he and Crowley had been reading. 

Aziraphale noticed that Crowley had left The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady on the sofa. He picked up the book and sat down in the spot Crowley had been sitting. Aziraphale usually saved books like this for Crowley, on shelves reserved for pictorial works about nature. He didn't remember this one. Curious, he began to turn the pages. As he worked his way through the author's record of January to December in the countryside, the tension he had felt since Crowley left began to ease and was replaced by a sense of well being and calm. Love was radiating from every page--Love for the earth, love for living things, and love of words. 

When Aziraphale reached the first pages dedicated to November, he paused and read a poem that had been translated from German:

"The year lies dying in this evening light,  
The poet musing in autumnal woods  
Hears melancholy sighs  
Among the withered leaves.  
Not so - but like a spirit glorified  
The angel of the year departs, lays down  
His robes, once green in spring  
Or bright with summer's blue;  
And having done his mission on the earth  
Filling ten thousand vales with rosy corn,  
Orchards with rosy fruit,  
And scattering flowers around,  
He lingers for a moment in the West,  
With the declining sun sheds over all  
A pleasant, farewell smile  
And returns to God."

He smiled wistfully. The words expressed what he once envisioned as his life's trajectory, but things hadn't worked out as he planned. The best laid plans don't take into account the ineffable. It turned out that he hadn't even known his own mind, thinking he wanted things that would have eventually made him unhappy in reality. He didn't want to say farewell to the earth. He didn't even want to return to God. Crowley knew this would happen and tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. Now here they were. 

Aziraphale turned a few pages and saw that Crowley had stuck a piece of paper in the book there, to mark his place. He read the poem by Shelley to the Wild West Wind. Oh, Crowley! You wild spirit fierce, you impetuous one! Were you looking for a new birth? Were you wanting to scatter the ashes and sparks from your unextinguished heart? Do you look forward to spring?

Aziraphale marveled at Crowley's desire for something so un-demon like. He still remembered Warlock telling him that Nanny said living things were only fit to be ground beneath his heels. However, Aziraphale had noticed long, long ago that Crowley had a distinct distaste for killing anything himself. In his former job, he had taken credit for major atrocities and acts of violence, but most of those, if not all, had actually been of human origin. Crowley's brand of "evil" had been strictly low grade mischief that was a projection of himself. The dissenter in him stirred up dissent. The questioner tempted others to question. The fear in him, made him terrorize his house plants. The annoyed and frustrated part of him had delighted in causing others to be annoyed and frustrated. (That usually backfired on him, because he was often annoyed and frustrated by the consequences of his own deeds.) The teasing was to get Aziraphale to interact with him...

With sudden insight, Aziraphale realized that what Crowley truly wanted was to love and to be loved in return. It had been there all along, but Aziraphale, blinded by heaven's indoctrination, refused to see it. Throughout the ages, he had developed a fondness for Crowley and had enjoyed his company, but had kept him at an arm's distance, not allowing the gap to be closed. The few times that it narrowed had terrified Aziraphale. He knew now that it was self righteousness, the fear of his own fall, and the unvoiced suspicion that he would one day lose Crowley to heaven's wrath, that had made him consistently disavow their friendship. Their relationship had become much more comfortable since the Armageddon that time forgot, but they were both avoiding the elephant in the room. The truth was Aziraphale loved Crowley more than he had ever loved anyone or anything, even his books. He suspected that Crowley loved him back.

Tears welled up in Aziraphale's eyes. He put his head in his hands and moaned. He remembered how patient Crowley had been with him, how willing he was to give Aziraphale second chances, and how often he had been Aziraphale's personal savior. How could he have been so blind? The bickering, the tiffs, the sarcasm, and the disappointed silences had not been from meanness or spite, but from Crowley's own inner turmoil. How could Aziraphale repair the damage he had undoubtedly caused by his stupid pride, prejudice, and fear? Some time later, Anathema went searching for him and found him on the well used sofa, rocking back and forth, saying, "Think, think, think," looking very much like a beloved bear of very little brain.


	9. This, That, and the Other Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Aziraphale have nice chat.

Anathema knocked softly on the door frame. Aziraphale looked up with a start. He stood when Anathema came into the room, ever the gentleman. "Did you get everything you needed dear? Is there anything else I can do for you?" Anathema noticed he was a little pink around the eyes and he was clutching a handkerchief.

"Yes, there is, as a matter of fact, but only if you want to." She replied. "Would you be willing to finish the story that you tried to tell me at the airbase?" Aziraphale tilted his head to one side and looked at her thoughtfully. 

"I think I can do that," he said. "Why don't you have a seat." Anathema lowered herself into his arm chair and he said, "Where would you like me to begin?"

""Why don't you begin at the beginning and continue on till you get to the end, then stop," she said, smiling broadly. Aziraphale smiled back and sat primly on the edge of the sofa.

"In the beginning," he began, "God created the heavens and the earth." Then he went on to tell her of the garden, the angel of the eastern gate, the apple tree, and the serpent. He told her about the times throughout time that the angel and the serpent coincidentally met each other, time and time again. At one point she asked him if he was sure it was a coincidence. He paused. "No, I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything any more." 

Next, he told her about the arrangement, the falling out, and the times Crowley had rescued him. But he didn't tell her about the holy water, it felt too personal. He also didn't talk about his Feelings. He told her about the last eleven years, and how he and Crowley had seen each other more and more frequently while being godfathers to the anti-christ who wasn't an anti-christ, all while trying to figure out how to avert the apocalypse. He skipped over his rejection of Crowley, but gushed about how Crowley had fought demons and had driven through fire to get to him. He brought her all the way up to the point that they had all stood on the pavement at the air base. It was an educational experience for him as well as Anathema. Every once in a while an "Oh!" would escape his lips when he realized the implications of events that he had never taken the time to ponder properly before. In truth, he was more than a little ashamed at what a self righteous prig he had often been. 

When he stopped, he said, "What about you my dear? How did you come to own Agnes Nutters prophecies?" Anathema took her turn recounting the history of Agnes Nutter and her descendants. Then they each gave an abbreviated account of what they had been doing since that fateful day. He was only able to relate the story of his trial as Crowley in hell, because Crowley would not discuss what had happened in heaven. Every day since then had been quite unremarkable, and for that they were both thankful. 

At one point the door bell rang and Aziraphale had to go out into the store to follow a customer around until he got annoyed and left. While he was gone, Anathema picked up Crowley's book and flipped through the pages. The book began to gently glow with the same lovely lilac that she had seen surrounding Crowley and Aziraphale earlier. She closed it reverently and put it back down. There was true magic in its pages and she knew it would be pointless to ask if it was for sale.

When Aziraphale returned to the back room, he offered to make some tea. Anathema politely declined, saying she really should be going soon. "Mr. Fell," she added, while she had the chance, "do you know anything about auras?" 

"I can't say that I do." He replied. Without preamble, Anathema explained how auras worked for her, what she saw when she looked at Crowley and Aziraphale, and what she thought it all meant. He listened attentively then nervously asked her whether she minded if he asked a personal question.

"Shoot." She said. Aziraphale looked puzzled. "Er, go ahead. I don't mind."

"You and Newt obviously care for each other and live together. It seems that Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy have a similar, uh, arrangement. How does one come to such an arrangement with someone they care about, provided their regard is returned, of course."

Anathema pressed her lips together, trying her best not to ruin the seriousness of the moment with laughter. She took a deep breath in, slowly breathed out, pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, and said, "It's actually quite simple. Metaphorically speaking, when the first party steps in toward the second, the second party does not stand still or step back. They also take a step in. Eventually, the two meet in the middle and things just sort of happen naturally, if neither one chickens out." 

"So, if one party does not move in, or if they back up, that could be a message to the other party that they are either uninterested or afraid? That explains a lot," Aziraphale mused. "I've enjoyed our visit immensely, my dear. I do hope you have a safe trip home." They agreed to keep in touch and exchanged phone numbers.

"Before I go," said Anathema. "Could I look at one of the books in your window over there? It's called Garden Spells." She was determined not to go home empty handed.

For some reason, Aziraphale looked more uncomfortable answering that question than he did talking with Anathema about a metaphorical someone's metaphorical love life. "I'm not sure if I know where it is located," he lied.

"No problem, I'll get it." Anathema went over to the window and picked the book with the cover that said Garden Spells off the top of one of the stacks. She read the descriptions on the back and the inside flaps of the cover and said, "I'll take it. How much do you want for it?" 

Now Aziraphale was acutely embarrassed. He waved a hand and said, "I couldn't possibly charge you for it my dear." 

"That's very sweet of you," said Anathema, and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed. Just after Anathema left, Aziraphale's pocket watch began to chime. It was five o'clock. He locked the door and decided he needed a drink.


	10. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel wakes and a demon goes to bed.

Aziraphale woke up in the squashy armchair he had snapped up for Crowley's nap the day before. There was a crick in his neck and a fuzzy feeling in his mouth. He had fallen asleep while reading Garden Spells, which was unusual for him. Perhaps the scotch on an empty stomach had something to do with it. He got up with a groan and ambled upstairs to brush his teeth and have a nice warm bath. His clothes were miracled clean and pressed, before he put them back on. Cleaning his body in the human way gave him almost as much pleasure as eating, but laundry was just a chore. 

Refreshed and dressed, Aziraphale made himself a cup of tea and a piece of toast with marmalade then sat down at the kitchen table. He had no idea what he was going to do after that. The shop was closed on Sundays but there had been no decision made about the day's activities. He didn't even know if Crowley would call or show up. Outside, the sky was grey and forbidding. Inside, the atmosphere was decidedly gloomy. 

\-------

Crowley was awake in his flat when Aziraphale woke up in the bookstore. He had not slept all night, which was unusual for him. All the coffee he had consumed on an empty stomach might have had something to do with it. 

After leaving Aziraphale and Anathema, Crowley felt restless and at loose ends. He went to the bargain cinema and watched Bohemian Rhapsody, again. When the movie let out it was just after dark. He noticed that he seemed to be the only person who had watched the movie alone. Everyone else walked out with a friend or lover. He wasn't looking forward to going home alone. So, he sat in a cafe, drinking one cup of coffee after another, while he tortured himself by counting the number of pedestrians who walked by the cafe window holding hands with a partner. 

The cafe stayed open later than usual that night because there were no volunteers to tell the scowling, muttering man, dressed all in black, that it was time to leave. Instead, they just stopped refilling his cup. When he drank the last drop, he seemed to come to his senses, paid his bill, and left. 

Back at the flat, Crowley remembered to water his plants, but he forgot to yell at them. He turned on the TV to watch the late night talk shows, but every channel was running repeats of Escape to the Country. Crowley wondered if the TV was under demonic influence. It was. He was the demon influencing it. 

When Crowley had heard Anathema tell Aziraphale that Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell were now living together in a cottage away from London, for the first time in his existence, he experienced a twinge of genuine envy. He wanted what someone else had, and it wasn't the kind of thing that could be had with a snap of his fingers. It was a way of being. The thought that Shadwell could have something he couldn't was highly irritating. 

Crowley briefly considered causing mischief in the pair's blasted cottage, like making the heat go out and the fireplaces unusable. Two things kept him from doing so: 1. Aziraphale had made him promise he would never interfere with the lives of anyone who had been with them at the air base. 2. He didn't want to do anything that would drive them into each other's arms. Humans were unpredictable that way. Instead, Crowley succumbed to the lure of the television.

All night long Crowley watched couples hunting for their dream homes in the British countryside. He began to take an interest in the houses, how they were built, how the rooms were laid out, their value, and their condition. Each episode, he chose his favorite house and yelled at the couple if they chose something else. At one point, he got hungry and warmed up leftover Chinese take out to munch on while he picked the show apart with gusto. About 6:30 in the morning, when the sky lightened and the day had arrived in spite of the clouds, Crowley turned off the TV and rubbed his face and hair with his hands. 

He was very tired, but his mind would not relax. Some time during the night he had decided he would like to leave London. There was no reason as far as he could see that he shouldn't live anywhere he wanted. What he really wanted was a private house with a garden. He wanted to bully the soil into growing the kinds of plants he had seen in that book he found at Aziraphale's. But he didn't want to leave Aziraphale alone in the city. Perhaps he could convince the angel to move his shop to a small town. It wasn't like he relied on the income anyway. 

He knew there was no one else that would keep an eye out for the angel's wellbeing besides him. Heaven wasn't keeping track of him any more as far as Crowley knew, and neither of them actually had any other close friends. They had found that out when they compared experiences of the fateful day and realized Sergeant Shadwell and his invisible witchfinder army had been the extent of both of their "operatives." 

Crowley felt responsible for Aziraphale. More than that, he didn't feel comfortable any more when he was not with him. These days, whenever he was absent from the shop, he was usually sleeping in his flat. He didn't tell the angel that because part of him enjoyed knowing that he was worried about. Crowley had always liked the angel very much. Hell, he had practically begged Aziraphale to like him back. The fact that he didn't respond in kind had hurt Crowley deeply. Though they were bonded by their shared experiences, and were now together more than ever before, there was never any kind of apology. He wasn't about to beg again.

Anathema said she could tell they had both loved each other a long time. Was his feeling for the angel love? Was he really loved back? Did loving Aziraphale make him a bad demon or a good demon? He found the distinction confusing. Was a bad demon a demon who did the bad things demons were supposed to do, or one who didn't? Wasn't "bad demon" redundant? What about a "good demon?" Wasn't that an oxymoron? Was it possible for a demon to be good ? Was he, Crowley, still a demon? For that matter, was Aziraphale still an angel? There didn't seem to be a great deal of difference between his kind of demon and Aziraphale's kind of angel. From what Crowley had seen, there might actually be bad angels and good angels. So, why weren't the bad angels fallen? Aziraphale was better than the whole lot of them as far as he was concerned The whole thing was too much for Crowley's exhausted brain. It was Sunday morning, but he suddenly felt the need to sleep. 

He stumbled into the shower, stripped, and turned the hot water full on. After about five minutes of that, he miracled himself dry and into a pair of lounge pants and a long sleeved t-shirt. He pulled on some woolly socks the angel had given him, snapped a hot water bottle into existence at the bottom of his bed, and got under the covers with his phone. First, he set the alarm for early the next morning. Next, he ordered the phone to "Dial Aziraphale."


	11. The Tree of Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reads about a garden and an apple tree. Anathema doesn't.

Aziraphale was still upstairs when he heard the phone ring in the bookstore. He jogged down the stairs as fast as he could and hurried over to the corner where the old fashioned table top phone resided. It had already rung six times. He hoped he wasn't too late when he picked up the receiver. 

"Hello?"  
Slow heavy breathing.  
"Who may I ask is calling?"  
More slow heavy breathing. 

Unnerved, Aziraphale almost hung up. Then he recognized something familiar in the quality of the soft even breaths. 

"Crowley, is that you?"  
"Mmm?"  
"Crowley! What are you doing?"  
"'M calling you. Wadya think I'm doing."  
"Yes, Crowley, but why are you calling?"  
"Oh....Can't come today, angel, got stuff to do.....See you tomorrow."

Said angel caught his breath for a second. Crowley was actually giving him advance warning that he wouldn't show up and was informing him of his future intentions. It was unusual enough for Aziraphale to consider it a step in, even if it was a teeny tiny baby step. Aziraphale took a similar step toward Crowley. "I'll be waiting for you, Crowley," he answered gently. His usual reply would have been something like, "Right. Jolly Good."

"Mm...good ni...good bye." Aziraphale was waiting to hear the line go dead before he hung up the phone, but all he heard was soft murmurs and the rustle of bed sheets. He wasn't an idiot. It was obvious Crowley had settled in for a nap and had forgotten to hang up. Was "doing stuff" code for sleeping? Maybe he was an idiot, if it took so long for him to figure that out. Aziraphale shook his head in wry amusement. He sat down in the chair next to the phone and listened to Crowley breathe until the connection was dropped a few minutes later.

Since he had a free day, Aziraphale decided he would go to his desk and write out a tentative plan of action for every common scenario in which he and Crowley were together. Crowley was definitely not going to catch him backing up again, if he could help it. Maybe he would even take a few steps in, given the opportunity. Aziraphale's eyes were opened now. He was certainly not uninterested in Crowley and he was no longer afraid, well not much. The next couple of hours passed in pleasant planning and day dreaming. Aziraphale was well on his way to developing a rich fantasy life, fueled by memories of the romance novels he had read. When he began to squirm with desire and anticipation, he decided it would be a good idea to break for lunch.

Aziraphale popped across the street for a soup and sandwich lunch and sat at a window table for a while, watching people go by. When he got back to the shop, his next goal was to power through the rest of Garden Spells, so he could send it to Anathema and ease his conscience. He found it very easy to get lost in the plot. The author's skill with words worked its magic on him and he felt all the characters' feelings, the loneliness, the anxiety, the fear, the longing, and the hope. He was fascinated by the sensuality of the magical elements of the story, the tastes, the touches, the sights, and the sounds. The scene with the young man and young woman in the garden at night sent shivers up his spine. The exact details of what happened between them were not clear, but there was enough information to lead Aziraphale's mind in a certain direction and to speculate. It can't have been much different than how Adam and Eve had been engaged in the garden at night. At that point, he got up to get himself a glass of ice water.

Eventually, Aziraphale put the book down on his lap with a sigh of satisfaction. As he sat there in the plump, soft armchair that hadn't existed two days ago, he began to ponder the significance of the apple tree in the story and the parallels to the tree in the garden of Eden. He was pretty sure that is what the author must have wanted her audience to do. The trees both grew fruit that gave knowledge. One kind was the knowledge of good and evil. The other was of life and death. It could be said they were very similar. Aziraphale thought it was what you did with knowledge that mattered, not the knowledge itself. That was probably blasphemous. He wondered what knowledge Adam and Eve had received when they first bit into that apple that they hadn't had before hand.

"I don't see what's so wrong about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway." Crowley had said to him the day they met. Ariphale hadn't seen it either, but then he had also never questioned the almighty. Why was it wrong? What about angels and demons? Did they know the difference between good and evil? Once he thought they did, but now he was not so sure. Sometimes the only difference between angels and demons seemed to be their hygiene and their taste in clothes. Then there was Crowley. He was very clean and always tried to keep up with the latest fashion, but he was supposed to be a demon. Plus, even if he did get mad when Aziraphale said it, he was often nice, nicer than a lot of angels. He hadn't wanted war or people dying, any more than Aziraphale had. 

In search of knowledge, Aziraphale rummaged around for a book he knew he had somewhere: Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics, (1884).* He skimmed through the chapter titles, looking for anything that might pertain to apples or apple trees. Aha! As he read, he pondered on how many unique ideas humans could manage to attach to one object. There were apples in multiple myths and legends: apples of Venus, apples of Adonis, golden apples, apples that turned to ash in your mouth, apples of death, apples of life, and most of all, apples of romantic love. People did all kinds of things with the skin and seeds of apples in order to divine who their future lover or spouse would be. Young women gave apples to young men they were interested in. In one country, if a man gave a woman an apple and she accepted it, they were considered married. The fate of a marriage could be tested by doing a variety things with an apple, like throwing it on a roof or into the street. 

Come to think of it, Aziraphale remembered that Adam and Eve hadn't been anything more than companions, until after Crowley got them to eat the apple. That's when things went pear shaped. Aziraphale ended up sitting on the wall a lot, not being able to enjoy the garden as much as before, because he didn't want run into them while they were obviously unaware of his presence. That happened once and everyone shrieked in alarm and ran in opposite directions, even Aziraphale. It was after that when the humans began covering themselves with leaves. 

Crowley often joined him on the wall to chat, before they all had to leave the garden. Azariphale recalled the time when Crowley grinned at him and said, "Messy business that," with a jerk of his head toward the garden. "I wouldn't know," Aziraphale replied haughtily. "No, I don't suppose you would," the demon smirked.

\-----------

That night, Anathema went to bed early. Newt had gone to visit his mother in Dorking and she was looking forward to settling in with a juicy magical romance. She put her cocoa down on the nightstand, and piled all the bed pillows against the bedstead for back support. Then she crawled into the bed, leaned against the pillows, and pulled the covers up to her waist. The book was retrieved from the top drawer of the nightstand. She opened it to the first chapter and began to read:

"My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita Phalloides, the death cap mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead."

"What the heck?"

Anathema turned the book over and looked at the cover which clearly said Garden Spells. Something was wrong here. She peeled off the book jacket to look at the title beneath: We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Anathema laid the book down on her lap with a sigh. She carefully took off her glasses and laid them on the book. Staring nearsightedly at the far wall, she took a deep cleansing breath, then calmly breathed out her frustration in her typical straightforward manner. 

"Oh, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics can be found here: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44638/44638-h/44638-h.htm


	12. Monday, Monday, Can't Trust That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is bothered and bewildered.

When Crowley arrived the next day, just before noon, it was pouring cats and dogs. He ran across the street with a closed umbrella in his hand. The umbrella wasn't for him. Rain rolled off him like water off a.....well, you know. 

Aziraphale was waiting. Crowley didn't need to jangle the door bell and Aziraphale didn't pretend that he was surprised to see him. He was beaming like a ray of sunshine as Crowley walked in the door. Crowley stopped short. Suddenly he remembered the sleepy phone conversion and Aziraphale saying, "I'll be waiting for you." And there he was, waiting, with a silly grin on his face. 

"What?" Crowley said, a little confused.  
"I'm so glad to see you Crowley. Sunday wasn't much fun without you."  
"Well, you know, I was busy."  
"Of course you were."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. This conversation was so weird. For some reason he felt guilty, even though he couldn't figure out why. He cleared his throat and said, "Yeah. Well. Where do you want to have lunch today?" There. That should put them back on familiar ground. 

"How about the place across the street? It'll be quicker, and they have new cook. I want to try his Spanish omelet. Besides, this weather is atrocious. I don't really feel like being out in it all afternoon."

"'S fine with me." Crowley said. And it was. He needed time to figure out how to talk to Aziraphale about moving to the country. He held the door for Aziraphale and popped open the umbrella. The angel moved in close and threaded his arm through Crowley's. They carefully travelled the fifteen steps it took to get across the street, skirting the areas with deeper water. When they arrived under the awning in front of the little restaurant, Aziraphale let go of his arm and Crowley shut the umbrella. He stood there for a couple of seconds just looking at the smiling angel's face before he opened the door. Since when did they walk arm in arm? It was going to be quite a day.

Aziraphale asked for the window table again and they sat down. The waitress handed them menus and said, "How are you doing today, Mr. Fell?" 

"Just lovely, Judy, in spite of the weather. Have you met Mr. Crowley?"  
"I've seen him around. Pleased to meet you Mr. Crowley."  
"Likewise." said Crowley, not looking up from perusing the menu."  
"Judy, can you let us have a moment to make our choices?"  
"Sure thing, Mr. Fell. Just give a wave when you're ready."

"Crowley."  
"Hm?"  
"Would you let me order for you?"

That got his attention. Crowley raised his head and looked at Aziraphale. Even though the angel could not see Crowley's eyes behind the shades, he knew the demon was gazing directly at him. "Angel. What are you doing?" 

Aziraphale bypassed the question. "Please, Crowley. We both know you would only order coffee then end up eating a piece of my toast, too. I really want to do this. If you don't like it, I'll never ask again." 

Crowley couldn't say no to the angel when he had on his pouting face. "Oh, all right, angel. But I'm warning you ahead of time. I'm not going to like it. Then you will owe me a coffee." 

"Thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale went back to beaming inanely and waved to the waitress, who rushed right over to their table. "We're ready to order now, Judy. I will have the Spanish Omelet with sausages and whole wheat toast. My friend will have a mug full of your tomato bisque. Nice and hot, please. Oh, and a pot of tea."

"Coming right up, Mr. Fell."  
"Thank you, Judy."

"Aziraphale."  
"Yes?"  
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"  
"What makes you think anything is going on?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you are doing weird things and acting like it's perfectly normal?" Crowley's words dripped with sarcasm.

Aziraphale gave Crowley his innocent angel look. "What weird things have I done?"he said. Crowley was at a loss for words. When he thought about it, Aziraphale wasn't actually acting weird, just different. In fact, he was treating Crowley the way he usually treated everyone else, with genuine warmth and consideration, turned up a notch. The familiar, comfortable distance they maintained had been shortened and Crowley felt like the earth was moving under his feet. 

"Never mind."  
"Certainly, dear."  
"Arrgh."  
"Oh, look, our food is here!"

"Here you go, Mr. Fell. One Spanish omelet with sausages and toast. Tomato bisque for Mr. Crowley, and a pot of tea."

"Thank you, Judy. Everything looks scrumptious."  
"Wave if you need anything. Enjoy!"

Aziraphale cut up his sausages, while Crowley stared warily at his mug of soup. The angel popped a piece of sausage in his mouth and chewed slowly, watching Crowley get up the nerve to take a sip. He wrapped his long fingers around the mug and lifted it to his lips. The tip of his tongue came out and tentatively touched the surface of the soup for a taste. It wasn't horrible. He took a small sip. It was good enough. He took a little larger sip. The hot, creamy, tomatoey goodness glided over his tongue, slid down his throat, and warmed his belly. He gave sigh and relaxed. Aziraphale wiggled in his seat with pleasure. Crowley ignored him. 

After a few minutes of slow, satisfied sipping, Crowley's hand snaked across the table and snagged one of Aziraphale's buttered toast triangles. He began to alternate bites of toast with sips of soup. At one point, he hummed a small hum of pleasure. Aziraphale stopped eating his Spanish omelette and stared. Crowley grinned at him, tongue in cheek. Aziraphale huffed. "Tease." 

Crowley was almost done with his soup when Aziraphale said, "Did you know tomatoes used to be called love apples?" The soup in his mouth was not prepared for the demon's surprise. It took the wrong route and caused a coughing fit which necessitated waving down Judy for a glass of water.


	13. You're My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old wounds are healed.

Crowley and Aziraphale went back to the shop. Crowley took his usual place on the couch, but he wasn't tired at all. He stretched out with his hands behind his head on one arm of the short sofa and his feet propped on the other end. He kept his glasses on because he didn't want Aziraphale to know he was thinking instead of sleeping. Of course that didn't fool the angel. He knew Crowley always took his glasses off when he slept. For that matter, they were usually off when the two were not in public. After that lovely lunch, Aziraphale felt a little let down. 

Aziraphale was not quite sure what to do with himself. He had finished reading Garden Spells and didn't feel like deciding on another book just yet. The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady was still on the coffee table. He picked it up and turned the pages once again to November. He silently read through the poem about the angel of the year, the author's description of fungi and birds with watercolor illustrations, the poem of the wild impetuous spirit, more descriptions, and more illustrations. The last poem for the month of November was by Edmond Holmes. 

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, who must have been staring at the ceiling. He started softly reading aloud:

"Like as the thrush in winter, when the skies  
Are drear and dark, and all the woods are bare,  
Sings undismayed, till from his melodies  
Odours of spring, float through the frozen air,--  
So in my heart when sorrow's icy breath  
Is bleak and bitter and it's frost is strong;  
Leaps up, defiant of despair and death  
A sunlit fountain of triumphant song.  
Sing on sweet singer till the violets come  
And south winds blow, sing on prophetic bird!  
O if my lips, which are forever dumb  
Could sing to men what my sad heart has heard  
Life's darkest hour with songs of joy would ring,  
Life's blackest frost would blossom into spring."

Aziraphale knew Crowley was listening when he brought his hands down from behind his head and laced his fingers across his chest. The angel decided that if he and Crowley were ever going to meet in the middle, it was well past time to address the hurt he caused. A lot of ground was lost from all the ways he backed up over the centuries. Crowley had taken a lot of rejection but he just kept casually stepping in toward the angel, despite all the times Aziraphale went too far in the wrong direction. It had to be love, even if it was just the love of a good friend.

The angel cleared his throat. Crowley's head turned toward him. "Crowley," he said, "I've been such an ass for so long. If there was any way I could take back the awful things I've said, I would. I don't know how to apologize properly. I just want to know if you will forgive me." 

Crowley slowly sat up. He took off his sunglasses and put them on the coffee table. He leaned forward till his elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped in front. His face was open and unguarded. His voice cracked when he finally asked, "Angel, do you like me?" Crowley was giving Aziraphale the chance to repair the damage of his previous words. Aziraphale knew he needed to choose his answers wisely.

The angel's eyes met his and he said with conviction. "You know I like you, Crowley."

"Am I your friend?"

"You are my best friend."

"How many years have we been friends?" (Do you love me?)

"Six thousand years. We've been friends for six thousand years, Crowley." (Yes, I love you.)

"We could go off together." The angel's heart constricted. Everything depended on this.

"Where would we go?"

Evidently, Aziraphale had said the right things. Crowley leaned back, more relaxed. "I want to leave the city and get a place in the country. It would do us both good to get out of London. Tomorrow I have an appointment with a real estate agent. Will you go with me?" 

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure yet where he fit into Crowley's plans for the future, but he knew the answer he had to give. "I'd love to go with you." The last of the tension in the air eased.

"How do you feel about gardening? I'd really like to try my hand at it."  
"You do remember I was a gardener for the Dowling's?"  
"I seem to recall that your gardening skills compared to your skills as a magician."  
"That's not fair, Crowley!"  
"In our garden, there will be no miracles. (He said "our!") Except the natural kind, of course. We will be like men and toil by the sweat of our brow!"  
"Do I have to?"  
"What are you going to do, angel? Sit in the middle of the garden like a statue and look pretty? "  
"Maybe. Will there a be a bench in this garden?"  
"Next thing, you'll be wanting a pond, with ducks."  
"Well?"  
"Angel, you're hopeless."  
"If there is one thing I've never lacked, it is hope."  
"I think we should plant an apple tree in the garden."  
"Why?"  
"Well, for one thing, it would be a bit like thumbing our noses at the almighty."  
"Crowley!"  
"It's true and you know it."  
"Any other reasons?"  
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me."  
"You do realize that the tree may take a while to produce fruit?"  
"We've got time, angel. It will be worth the wait."

\---------

The day wound on in this manner. Three o'clock came and went. The shop door didn't unlock itself and a sign appeared where the hours used to be posted: "Closed until further notice." Around five, the wine came out and the two old friends enjoyed each other's company on that rainy day. They both knew change was coming, but for now, things were just right.


	14. House Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do Crowley and Aziraphale find their dream home? Tune in and find out.

The next dayCrowley picked Aziraphale up at nine in the morning to meet with the real estate agent. When the angel locked up the shop, Crowley noticed the new sign on the door. He felt a twinge of worry. What if Aziraphale was just humoring him? What if he would be miserable without the bookstore? It had practically been his whole life for over 200 years. 

They got in the Bentley, but Crowley didn't start the car. He would give the angel a chance to back out before things went any further. "Aziraphale, are you sure you want to do this?" 

The angel looked alarmed. "Don't you?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I was thinking about the shop and how much you love it. Won't you miss it?"

"Crowley, I thought you knew. It's really just a place to keep my collection. Though I did enjoy it, and have also collected a lot of fond memories, one place is as good as another if you are with someone you care about. I was getting rather overwhelmed by the whole thing lately anyway. It's a bit of an obsession that ran wild. I can't keep track of half of what I own."

"You're not getting rid of everything, are you?"  
"Most definitely not! Do you think we could find a place with a room for a library? I promise to try to contain my habit to manageable proportions."  
"I'm already on it, angel. I've got a list of our requirements to give to the real estate agent. A library is at the top of the list."  
"When did you do that?"  
"Saturday night."  
"But Crowley, you didn't even ask me to go with you till yesterday. How did you know I would?"  
"I didn't know. I hoped." 

Crowley started the car and pulled away from the curb. Aziraphale's eyes began to water, but angels don't get allergies and the sun was behind the clouds. He looked out of the window for a few minutes. "Crowley, what else is on the list?"

"Let's see. A living area, room for a personal library, a large eat in kitchen, 2-3 bedrooms, one of which will be used as a media room, two baths, and a laundry. Preferably two stories. Plus, a good sized garden with room for a small greenhouse, and a garage for the Bentley. How's that sound?"

"It sounds wonderful, but how in the world did you come up with all that?"  
"I watched Escape to the Country for six solid hours."  
"You didn't!"  
"I did."  
"Do we really need all those rooms?"  
"Yes, we do, angel. We may be only two people, but you have a lot of stuff. I will need space for some of my things too. Plus, I figured we could start getting used to living more like humans, just in case."  
"Just in case...?"  
"We haven't heard from heaven or hell in quite a while. Who knows. We could lose our powers. They could decide to take away our immortality. Any number of scenarios are possible. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Besides, it could be fun, doing stuff we've never done before."  
"If you say so."  
"I do."  
"Will I have to do laundry?"

Crowley cackled with glee, but Aziraphale noticed that he didn't answer the question. 

They met with the real estate agent, Doris, who was very helpful. She made a copy of Crowley's list, which he had printed out. Her data base gave them some potential prospects for them to view over the next few days. Then came the tricky part, the financial questions. Neither the demon or the angel had ever had a bank account. Their credit records were non-existent. Crowley told her they intended on paying in full, with cash. He created a fictitious savings account with a good sized balance, in a fictitious bank, with a fictitious phone number, when she insisted some kind of information was necessary for paperwork. He understood about paper work, but he was sure a small forest must have gone into the stack of paper the agent said they would have to sign when they found the house they wanted. It was worse than hell. 

\-------  
As far as Doris was concerned, she suspected Crowley and Aziraphale were mafia. It wasn't her problem. There were people paid to look out for that kind of thing. If asked, she would just tell the truth. They were perfectly nice gentlemen, obviously in love, looking for their first home.

That poor lady. The perfectly nice gentlemen didn't seem interested in anything she showed them. At least the skinny redhead didn't. He asked too many questions and always found some reason to reject every place so far. The other one kept up a steady stream of polite compliments for her and each property, but never tried to convince the redhead to change his mind. Every afternoon, they went to a different location to look at two or three houses. Every evening, she went home exhausted. 

By Thursday, she noticed they had begun holding hands when they got out of their car at each new house. They didn't let go till it was time to get back in the car. That made it impossible for her to even attempt the divide and conquer strategy common to real estate agents the world over.

Friday morning, a new listing became available. It appeared to be exactly fit the couple's requirements. If this didn't work out, she was going to suggest they wait till after the new year and try again. 

\--------

In the Bentley, Crowley and Aziraphale followed the real estate agent's car through the South Downs. Most of the countryside was a variegated green patchwork of open and rolling hills, dotted with sheep, scattered cottages, and sparse vegetation. They had been driving for almost two hours. Crowley grumbled off and on about the pace at which they were moving. Aziraphale finally exclaimed, "This isn't London, Crowley. Why don't you relax and enjoy the drive?" 

Crowley smiled back, he couldn't help it. "You're right angel. We're not in a hurry, are we?" Oddly, that made the angel feel a little bit more impatient to get where they were going. 

Their agent had told them this property wasn't exactly for sale. It was part of a much larger estate. It could be leased with a contract that guaranteed possession by them and their heirs for 99 years, even if the land changed hands. They could break the contract at any time, if they wanted to leave, but the owners couldn't. This was provided that they maintained the property and did not change its essential character. The landlord's only recourse to repossession was evidence they had been negligent or hadn't payed their rent for more than three months. All they had to do to move in was provide some kind of proof of good standing in their community and a down payment on the lease. It seemed almost too good to be true.

The cars rounded a bend and the road gently dipped. Aziraphale gasped softly. Like magic, the view changed to that of a wide river valley, with scattered trees, low stone walls, garden hedges, and tiled roofs. This area was more populated than some of the land they recently passed through, but not enough to feel crowded. The road wound away from a small village and toward the river, continuing to take them downward. Just at a curve, Doris turned her car into a driveway, beside a low stone wall. Crowley pulled up behind her. She got out of the car and waved for them to follow. The pair met in front of the Bentley. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hand and squeezed. 

Together they walked to the front of the cottage on a brick walkway, which led through an herbaceous border, now dormant, to the door of the cottage. Doris stood at the door waiting for them, but Crowley had stopped short at the corner of the house. Attached to the wall at eye level, was a brass plaque with the name of the cottage. It simply said "Paradise." He looked at Aziraphale and motioned with his head. The angel turned in the direction Crowley indicated and turned back with his eyes wide. The demon took his other hand. "Aziraphale, I get the feeling that once we go through that door things will start moving at light speed. Are you ready for that possibility?" The angel solemnly nodded. 

The two went back to holding just one hand. They hadn't walked but a few steps when it was Aziraphale's turn to stop Crowley. "Look at the sun!" The demon looked up over the roof top where the autumn afternoon sun looked as if it was resting, like a golden apple on a plate. 

"I see the sun, angel. What about it?"  
"The sun sets in the west, Crowley. The house is facing east!" 

"Oh, good grief," muttered Doris under her breath. At least it looked like there was a chance that she might actually get a commission after all. She just wanted to go home to her fire and her tea. She punched the house's code into the temporary electronic lock and opened the door.

The outside of the house was the same aged cream colored stone as the wall by the road. The roof was the dark grey slate they had seen on the houses in the village.The main portion, also the oldest, was two up and two down, with a bathroom upstairs. At some point, the ground floor had been extended out along the back of the house for two more rooms and another bathroom. There was also a small addition to the left side of the house, and a large stone out building that looked like a garage or workshop, on the right, from which they had come.

As they all walked into the house, they entered a terracotta tiled hall which led through a doorway on the left, to a medium sized country kitchen. It was also tiled. The handcrafted cabinets were painted white with forged iron pulls and knobs. The backsplashes over the butcher block counters were covered with glazed artisan tile in green and blue. The stove was a small, gas burning Aga, for cooking and warmth. It was also green, a shade lighter than the tile. There was a long table under the window that looked out into the front garden. On the table was a bowl of apples. 

"Isn't this a lovely kitchen?" gushed Doris.  
"Yes, it is," Aziraphale sighed reverently. 

"What's this door lead to?" Asked Crowley. "Oh, look, angel, it's the laundry," he said with a smirk. Aziraphale would not rise to the bait. The laundry was the addition on the side of the house. It had a door at the far end leading outside and also doubled as a boot room. 

"Before we go out, let's see the rest of the house," said Doris. They walked back to the hall and across to the front room. "Here is where most people would have their living room. That door over there leads to a similar sized room behind this one, which could be the library you wanted. Each room except the kitchen and laundry has its own fireplace. The house also has hot water piping under the main floor for radiant heat when needed. 

"Mmmm," murmured Crowley, whose feet were cold. 

They entered the library room. It was empty and echoing but full of potential. There was a glass french door that could open onto the back garden. Crowley and Aziraphale went over to look out. A small patio just outside the door ran along the length of the house. About fifty feet from the house was a tree that obviously had been well cared for over the years. The slowly sinking sun hung over it. Crowley asked the real estate agent if she knew what kind of tree it was. "I believe that is an apple tree," she said. "I wouldn't be surprised if the apples in the kitchen came from it."

"Not very subtle of the almighty, is it?" Whispered Aziraphale. Crowley did a double take.

"You don't think...."  
"Yes, I do. There are too many coincidences for it to be a coincidence."  
"I would have thought we'd be out of her good graces."  
"Well, you know how she is."  
"Ineffable?"  
"Quite."

"Let's move on," said Doris. "This door should take us back to the hallway. Yes, it does. Across here is a bedroom behind the kitchen. The door next to that is a small bathroom with a shower." They walked into the bedroom and noticed that it had a french door that matched the library's. Aziraphale wondered whose bedroom it was going to be. The sleeping arrangements were still murky territory.

When they came out of the bedroom, Doris showed them the staircase that rose up from the back of the hall, instead of the more usual front. "This was so the upstairs would be more like a private suite for the home's original owners." The landing at the top of the stairs was a hallway with three doors. "The door in front of us is a full bathroom. The room on the left has another entrance into the bathroom." They walked into the room on the right first. 

"You have your library, angel. I claim this as the media room. TV, surround sound for music, the whole works. We can both have posh leather cinema seating too. It'll be great!"

This was the first time in a long time that Aziraphale had heard Crowley so enthused. His heart did a little flutter. Doris was deciding what to do with her commission. Maybe she would go somewhere warmer for a few days, like Spain.

They poked their heads into the bathroom. It had black and white tiled floors a clawfoot tub and a chrome radiator that doubled as a towel rack.

The last room was meant to be another bedroom. It seemed to match the soon to be media room in size and shape. Crowley and Aziraphale stood in the middle of the empty room, hand in hand, looking up in awe. There was a sky light! "Angel," Crowley breathed. "We'll be able to see the stars on clear nights." 

Doris decided to beat a hasty retreat. "I'll just go wait for you guys downstairs."

The two stood there for a few moments under the skylight and watched the clouds moving slowly across the sky, with bits of blue peaking out now and then. Crowley put his arm around Aziraphale's shoulder and the angel leaned in. He questioned how they were going to get from where they were now to sleeping under the stars together. Then he remembered Anathema's words about how things would happen naturally, if they kept stepping in toward each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember this is a work of fiction. There may be elements that do not pertain to the way real life people and places actually look or function. Suspend disbelief, if you can. :)


	15. How Sweet It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is the apple of Crowley's eye.

Doris was waiting for the pair in the kitchen when they came downstairs. She didn't even ask if they wanted the place. She just showed them a form on the table that said they agreed to the terms and conditions of the lease. The down payment would be 6,000 pounds, in addition to the monthly payments. They each took the pen and signed their names. The angel signed as Alpha Zira Fell. Doris shook their hands and said, "Well, gentlemen. I'm very happy for you. A week from today, you may come by the office with your references and a money order for the down payment. I will have a copy of the agreement and the keys for you." 

As they were getting ready to walk out the front door, Aziraphale was effusively thanking the real estate agent for all she had done. Crowley slipped back into the kitchen and grabbed an apple. He stuck it in his jacket pocket then joined the two at the door. After locking up, Doris suddenly said, "Damn! Oh, excuse me. I'm afraid I forgot to show you around the rest of the property."

"No worries," said Crowley. "Mr. Fell and I would love to stay and look around on our own. Let me move the Bentley so you can get out of the drive."

"Oh, that's very kind of you. I really would like to get home before dark." 

Crowley cringed at the word "kind." "Not at all," he said, sounding politer than he felt. Aziraphale grinned wickedly at him from behind Doris's back. The Bentley was backed up. The real estate agent drove off. The Bentley was returned to the drive. The demon got out of the car, sauntered casually over to the waiting angel and offered him his arm. "Care for a walk about the grounds?" He said, exaggerating his accent. 

"Don't mind if I do," replied the delighted angel. And he didn't. Mind, that is. 

The two of them took a promenade around the outside of the house from the front to the back, examining the flower beds and talking about the house. They paused in front of the apple tree. The back of the property was bordered by groups of mature hardwoods. Beyond that, the land sloped gently down toward the river and there was a public footpath path leading off through the trees in that direction. "Look, Crowley," said Aziraphale, "we should be able to see the sunset from the river." 

"Perfect! Let's go, angel." It was a lovely day for a walk, even if a bit chilly. Sunset was about half an hour away on this autumn afternoon. When they arrived at the river, surprise, surprise, there was a park bench on the rise above the high water line...and ducks. Aziraphale was thrilled. Crowley, not so much. "I don't mean to sound paranoid, angel, but all this coincidence stuff is beginning to creep me out."

"Now, now, dear boy. There is nothing unusual about a bench by a river with ducks. If it had been a pond in our back yard, we might have something to worry about. Let's sit down."  
"As long as you don't think we're being watched."  
"I certainly couldn't guarantee that."  
"I guess not. Are you cold?"  
"No, I'm fine. Why don't you scoot in closer if you're cold."

A few quiet moments passed. The sun hovered over the horizon. The sky was streaked with clouds glowing in shades of pink, yellow and orange. Soon the sun also began to change color to a deep crimson. "Red at night, sailors delight, " said Aziraphale, predictably. The color remind Crowley of the apple in his pocket.

"Aziraphale." Something in his tone drew the angel's head around to see Crowley's eyes. "I have something for you." He pulled the rosy apple out of his pocket and held it out between them on the flat of his palm. The angel didn't have to ask where it came from. They both knew this apple was more than just a piece of fruit. It was many things. It was all things. It was a question. It was a promise. It was life. It was death. It was a beginning. It was an ending. It was a gift. It was a temptation. It was knowledge. All Aziraphale had to do was reach out and take it. 

The angel held Crowley's gaze and took the apple from Crowley's hand. He brought it to his mouth and bit into it with a juicy crunch. First a chew, then a swallow then a licking of lips. Crowley watched fascinated. When Aziraphale licked his lips, Crowley's tongue travelled over his own. Aziraphale held the apple out, offering it back to Crowley. The demon accepted it and took his own bite. In this way, they passed the apple back and forth until the angel nibbled off the last bits around the core and gave it to Crowley. He stood up and threw the core as far as he could. Then he leaned down to Aziraphale, gently curled his fingers in the angel's lapels, and pulled him off the bench into a sweet, juicy kiss. 

The sunset found them holding on to each other for dear life. Crowley began to shiver, partly from the cold. 

"Crowley, we need to go."  
"I guess you're right," He said with a sigh, "It's a long drive back."  
"I think we should stop somewhere and get you a hot drink."  
"I bet you could use something to eat, couldn't you?"  
"I wouldn't turn it down."  
\---------------

About an hour later they were sitting in a pub. Crowley was nursing a hot coffee. Aziraphale was eating some shepherd's pie, and enjoying every mouthful. He put his fork down for a minute.

"Crowley, why didn't you get something to eat?"  
"I'm not hungry. Besides, I don't think the food here is for me."

"What does that even mean? I know you must eat sometime. Your body needs food to keep from discorporating. You ate the apple. You drank the tomato soup. I've seen you eat other things, but you hardly ever consume anything when we are eating out together."

"Don't worry, I'll probably have something when I get home."  
"What will you have? You don't keep much in your kitchen."  
"Questions, questions. If you must know, I usually order take out from a Chinese place that has a dedicated meatless wok for vegetarian orders."  
"Are you a vegetarian? Since when? Why didn't you ever tell me?"  
"Yes, kind of. Since the flood. I didn't want you to make a big deal out of it. You enjoy eating meat. It would have been awkward. I guess if we're going to live together you would find out soon anyway."  
"Why kind of?"  
"The snake part of me needs meat periodically. About once a month I eat a large steak, then I'm good for a while. It's not a big deal. Finish your dinner."  


The angel went back to eating with a thoughtful look on his face. Suddenly he stopped chewing and swallowed.

"Oh, no."  
"What's the matter?"  
"I wish I had known before I ordered."  
"It's okay, angel. You don't have to eat the way I do."  
"That's not the problem."  
"What is the problem?"  
"I wanted to kiss you again." 

"What's that got to do with...oh! Crowley grinned. "So? You'll taste savory, instead of sweet. I can handle that."

\----------------------

The angel turned out to be a very enthusiastic kisser. It was almost more than Crowley could handle. They had been sitting in the Bentley across from the bookshop for about ten minutes. 

"Time out, angel."  
"What's wrong?"  
"Nothing, nothing at all. You do have to go in sometime though."  
"You could come in too."  
"I don't think that's a good idea."  
"Why?"  
"Oh, come on. Do I have to spell it out?"  
"Yes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but we just held hands two days ago. Today was our first kiss. We're moving in together in a week. Tomorrow we need to sit down and plan out how we are going to get everything done. I need to be able to think, and you are a huge distraction."

"So, what you are trying to say is that you don't want to go too fast."  
"Something like that."  
"Crowley! I do believe you are a Romantic!"  
"Arrr. Please don't call me that! You're killing me, angel."  
"I certainly wouldn't want to do that."  
"Bastard."  
"I love you, Crowley."

Crowley was stunned. He sat there like an idiot, not saying anything. Aziraphale leaned forward and gave him one soft kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add a bunch of new tags to reflect the content of the whole story. There should be about five chapters left.
> 
> I changed the chicken to a steak ecause it kept bothering me after I was reminded that was in the book.


	16. No More Steps to Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally meet in the middle.

The next day, Crowley appeared at the shop in the morning. He and Aziraphale talked over what they would keep and what they would sell or give away. Lots of lists were made. They marked the bookcases, furniture, and rugs that would be moved to the house for the downstairs library and living area. Crowley insisted the rugs got sent out to be cleaned first. The downstairs bedroom was designated as the guest room. Aziraphale would be free to furnish it however he wished. (They left some things unsaid for the time being.)

The books Aziraphale wanted to keep would be boxed up. The rest would be sold. That was going to be quite an undertaking. The angel suggested they hire Newt to help. He called Anathema's number right away and it explained what was happening. It was agreed that Newt could come to London and stay in the shop's spare room for a few days to help with the packing, organizing, and selling. He would come the next day and bring boxes. 

Most of Crowley's belongings were going upstairs at the house. Crowley was in charge of the furnishings in those rooms. He was going to order the things he wanted for the media room and the bedroom that they didn't already have. They would be delivered the week after they moved in. 

There were two major obstacles to be overcome. The first was moving everything from London to the cottage. It was not feasible to transfer all that mass by miracle. It might not even be allowed. They would need to hire movers.

The second obstacle was the question of money. The angel and the demon had their own unique ways of attaining and handling funds. Neither one could create something out of nothing. That was in god's job description. They could only manipulate the matter that already existed. By far, the easiest methods involved currency already manufactured by humans. Crowley preferred calling to himself "lost" money that nobody would ever miss. You would be surprised what a wealth of income exists in places like missing wallets, under sofa cushions, in closeted winter coats, and in bank accounts of deceased gentlemen with no families. The demon's need for cash was relatively light. Most of his belongings had been engineered by himself to not wear out or need replacing. His landlord had been conveniently manipulated to never remember that Crowley had not paid rent since he moved into his apartment. His remaining wants were few. Until now.

When he explained the situation to Aziraphale, Crowley was hoping the angel would come up with an idea for the 6,000 pounds they needed. Not to mention, monthly rent, the cost of utilities, and other expenses. Aziraphale insisted that they should pay all their bills and refrain from depriving the humans of what they were owed. It was revealed that throughout the millennia, the angel had collected more than books. He also collected gold and silver coins. He was loaded. The problem was converting the coins to cash. That was usually done one coin at a time, through dealers who were very accommodating, if not entirely honest. The angel would purchase money orders to pay his bills in lieu of checks. Now, however, the two decided they needed to open a bank account and get bank cards.

Like human couples, Crowley and Aziraphale learned a lot about each other through these seemingly mundane conversations. They came to appreciate each other more and also to recognize the little irritating imperfections in themselves. Of course, there was plenty of sarcasm from the demon and general bitchiness from the angel, but it was not spiteful or mean. Their love and regard for each other grew and swelled till it seemed ready to burst its bounds. Over the next few days there was a lot of experimenting with touching and holding, and of course kissing. Not a few times, one or the other would find it necessary to take a break to relieve tension. Crowley still went back to his apartment every evening.

Newt came to stay and was a great deal of help, not only with boxing up books but with keeping Crowley and Aziraphale from getting too distracted. They weren't into public displays of affection. Newt learned to avoid the darker corners of the shop and to always cough or knock before entering a room. One evening, he was upstairs when he heard an old gramophone playing in the bookstore. He went down to investigate and found Crowley and Aziraphale slow dancing by candle light. He went back upstairs and called Anathema. 

Newt, who no longer blew up computers, told the pair how to set up a bank account and showed them how to check their balance and transfer funds online. He explained online marketplaces to Aziraphale and volunteered to create a virtual bookstore for him. This could channel money from book sales directly to their bank account. Aziraphale offered him a job managing the site, at least until everything that needed to go was sold. Newt accepted. 

Eventually, everything worked itself out and the big day finally came. Aziraphale didn't have any problem getting character references from his neighbors. He and Crowley now had a money order for the 6,000 pounds. They drove to Doris's office, to finish up the necessary business. Doris wished them well, and Aziraphale gave her a generous tip for services rendered above and beyond the call of duty. Keys in hand, picnic basket in the back seat, they were off to their cottage in the country.

The weekend was coming, so deliveries would not be made till after that. The cottage was still empty and echoing when two hours later, Crowley and Aziraphale pulled into the drive and walked to the door hand in hand. Crowley unlocked the door and Aziraphale was about to go in when he said, "Uh, uh, uh, angel. We are going to do this properly."

"What do you mean, properly?"

The demon wrapped his arms around the angel's neck and hiked up one skinny leg. "Give us a lift," he grinned.

"You can't be serious!"  
"I'm very serious. See?" He said, waggling his eybrows.  
"Very well, " Aziraphale huffed, secretly pleased.

Crowley wasn't as light as he looked. Aziraphale stumbled through the entrance and put the demon down unceremoniously in the hallway. He was rewarded with a resounding smooch. Then Crowley ran back out to get the picnic basket and blankets stowed in the back seat if the Bentley.

They laid out the blankets and food in front of the living room fireplace. Somebody had the brilliant idea that an actual fire would be a cozy addition. They scavenged for fallen branches under the trees at the back of the property. Crowley arranged them in the fireplace and tried to set them ablaze with demon fire. Two minutes later they were running to open windows. As soon as the smoke cleared, Crowley searched the internet on his phone for "how to make fire in a fireplace." That day the angel and the demon learned that wet wood smokes and fireplaces don't draw if the flue is closed. The wood was miracled dry and soon they had a small blaze going. 

It was a good thing Doris had made sure the power, water, and heat were turned on before they arrived. Just saying.

The two of them lounged on the blankets in front of the fire and had their picnic, with champagne to celebrate. Aziraphale had made sure there was fresh fruit and veggies for his demon. When evening came, Crowley's head was pillowed in Aziraphales lap. The angel was reading aloud from Lost Horizon by James Hilton, holding the book in one hand and stroking the demon's hair with the other. He shifted uneasily. The floor was getting uncomfortable and so was he. In more ways than one. "Crowley," he asked gently, "are we going back to London tonight?" 

Crowley opened his eyes and held Aziraphale's gaze until the angel looked away. He sat up and said, "Wait right here. I have a surprise." After going outside to the trunk of the car, he brought in a box the size of a microwave and began to tear it open. He drew out a mysterious object which looked like square layers of vinyl folded together, with electrical cords dangling from its sides. 

"What is that?"

"An air mattress." Crowley did not look at Aziraphale. He was afraid of what he would see. Even though he now knew Aziraphale loved him, previous rejection had left its mark. He began to unfold the flattened mattress in the middle of the empty room. 

"Oh." It was Aziraphale's turn to be stunned. He had been waiting eagerly for this moment and now that it had come, he had no idea what to say. After a small pause which seemed to last an eternity, he said the first thing that popped into his brain. "How does it work?" 

Crowley's head lifted. The joy on his face was unmistakeable. He grabbed the box, pulled out the instructions, and handed them to the angel. "Here, read this. I'll run back out to the car and get the bedding."

This, dear readers, is where I leave you to your very capable imaginations. For now.


	17. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cottage is all theirs.

The morning sun filtered through the clouds and into the front window, lighting up Aziraphale's sleeping face. Crowley's own face, mere inches away, was in shadow. His eyes were open. He had been gazing at the angel in wonder for quite a while. Softly, he began to sing. 

"All that was shown to me, sunlight  
Something so known to me, sunlight oh sunlight  
All of your love is sunlight  
All of your love is sunlight. Sunlight, sunlight  
That's what it is, sunlight." *

Aziraphale smiled and lazily opened his eyes. 

"Mmmm. Do I know you?"  
"Yes. I believe you do."  
"Do you know me?"  
"We know each other. Maybe even well enough to get married."

Aziraphale sat up so quickly that he rolled backward off the edge of air mattress, which had lost a little volume during the night. Crowley laid back on the bed and laughed so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks. The glaring angel climbed back up, pinned Crowley down and smothered him with kisses till he begged for mercy. It should come as no surprise that, during the night, Aziraphale had learned that Crowley was much more tender and gentle than he expected; and Crowley had learned that Aziraphale was far more aggressive than he expected. 

A bit later, the pair drove into the village to look around and find a place to get something to eat. Crowley checked his phone quickly before their food came. He gave a low chuckle. "Angel, get a load of this. I've had my phone turned off since we got here. It seems that yesterday Newt texted me, asking me to ask you if Anathema could stay over at the shop with him, for the weekend. About an hour ago, Anathema texted me that they are engaged!" 

The angel tutted with good humor. "It appears to me they didn't wait for my reply."  
"It appears to me that we were all similarly engaged."  
Aziraphale kicked him under the table. "Behave."  
"What?"  
"Well, send back our congratulations."

\-------  
The weekend sped by. On Monday, in London, Newt supervised the loading of the moving van which brought Aziraphale's most treasured possessions from the bookshop to the cottage. Crowley and Aziraphale worked hard together over the next few days to get everything in place and put away. The library walls were lined with the bookshop's old shelving units, and the newly cleaned Persian rugs lay on the floors. The library kind of spilled over into the front room, because Aziraphale hadn't culled out quite enough books, but it was all very cozy and inviting. There resided the old sofa and the comfortable armchairs. The roll top desk was put under the front window. Everything was not in it's proper place yet, because the air mattress was still in the middle of the living room floor. 

New furniture and rugs were delivered for the upstairs bedroom and media room. Crowley would not let Aziraphale help set up those rooms. He wanted the finished product to be a surprise. They investigated the village shops together to pick out new kitchenware and buy necessary items like coffee and tea. They had agreed to start learning to live more like humans. Some kinds of miracles were deemed off limits unless absolutely necessary. These included maintenance of the house and grounds, since they technically did not own them. If either of them was ever destroyed, any miraculous repairs they had done would vanish with them.

By the end of the week, Crowley had gone back to London to load a rented van with the stuff he wanted to keep from his apartment. He also released his landlord's mind from its charm. The man ended up having to see a doctor for "selective amnesia."

Back at the cottage, Aziraphale was a nervous wreck until Crowley returned. He privately feared that everything was too good to be true and something terrible would happen to separate them. 

Newt and Anathema were still together in the bookshop. They had been working hard creating the online bookstore's data base. It was taking a lot of research to figure out the value of some of the books. Per Aziraphale's instructions, they had separated them into value categories. The most valuable and unique books were put aside for offering to elite private collectors who would be willing to shell out big money. The least valuable would eventually be sold in a going out of business sale at the shop. The rest would be online. The day Crowley came to town, they helped him load the van. Newt drove it down to the cottage and Anathema rode along. They were meant to follow Crowley in the Bentley, but they lost sight of him within 15 minutes. Luckily, Anathema had GPS on her phone. 

When they got to the cottage, the Bentley was in the driveway. They went in the open doorway of the cottage, stood in the hallway, and knocked loudly on the door. No answer. They peeked into the living room, nobody there. They took note of the neatly made up air mattress. Anathema nudged Newt sharply in the ribs. Newt cleared his throat with embarrassment. He tried calling, "Mr. Fell! Mr. Crowley! Anybody home?" From the door leading to the library, Aziraphale came hurrying out. He looked quite pink and flustered. "Newt, Anathema, so lovely to see you." Crowley came out after the angel with a big grin and winked at them. 

While Newt and Crowley moved the contents of the van upstairs, Aziraphale gave Anathema a tour of the downstairs. Then they went into the kitchen to have a cup of tea. Anathema showed off her engagement ring, which turned out to be a bandaid. Newt didn't have enough funds for a ring yet. Aziraphale asked if the couple had set the date for their marriage. Anathema said she really wanted to have it in about a month at the winter's solstice. She just needed to find a place where they could have a small bonfire. Of course, the angel was thrilled to offer the back garden of the cottage. 

Anathema jumped up and said, "Be right back, Mr. Fell." She ran up the back stairs to tell Newt. He and Crowley were just finishing up getting the last item in place in the bedroom. Anathema stopped in the doorway. "Wowww! You did all this?"

"Yup." Said Crowley.  
"I hope you don't mind my saying, Mr. Fell is one lucky guy."  
"Shut up."

The room was beautiful. Like the rest of the house, the walls were pristine white. Most of the floor was covered by a plush silvery grey area rug. Against one wall was a sleek ebony four poster bed with a matching wardrobe on another wall. Behind the bed was a tapestry version of The Angel and the Serpent by Evelyn DeMorgan. On either side of the bed were matching black lacquered nightstands, oval, with glass tops. The sheets were charcoal grey and the duvet cover had elegant, thick and thin grey stripes. In one corner of the room stood the "wrestling" angel and demon statue. The windows were covered by white gauze drapes from just under the ceiling to a puddle on the floor. The room glowed in the afternoon light. A square of light from the sky light shone down on the bed. 

Aziraphale got a little put out that everyone was upstairs. He could hear them talking and laughing without him. Even though Crowley had told the angel to wait till he gave the word to see the rooms upstairs, it was patently unfair that Newt and Anathema got to go up before him. He arrived at the top of the landing just as Newt and Anathema came out of the room. Anathema put a finger to her lips and shook her head. She gave the angel a quick hug and waved good bye then motioned for Newt to follow her downstairs. 

Aziraphale quietly walked into the room. What he saw took his breath away. After Anathema and Newt left, Crowley had stretched out on one side of the bed to stare up at the sky. He was bathed in the golden glow from above. The angel walked over to the bed and carefully laid down beside Crowley. The demon reached between them to grab the angel's hand. "It's perfect, Crowley," whispered Aziraphale.

"Almost."  
"What's missing?"  
"I just realized that I haven't told you I love you." 

That night they slept together under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From the song "Sunlight" by Hozier. I got the idea of using it from a youtube video of GO scenes set to that music.
> 
> *edited because no matter how often I go over a chapter, I always find typos


	18. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much love and sweetness. It will exceed your carb limit and rot your teeth.

The year moved on toward winter. Anathema and Newt had taken up residence in the bookstore apartment. They were working full time for Aziraphale, still trying to decrease the load of books in the shop. Crowley and Aziraphale became quite wealthy after the most valuable books in the angel's collection were sold. In years to come their presence in the river valley actually raised the standard of living in that area, due to their patronage of local business and generosity to local charities. 

Aziraphale helped Anathema plan for the solstice wedding ceremony, and Crowley planned for next year's garden. He poured over seed catalogs and watched tons of youtube videos on how to build greenhouses and raised beds. Aziraphale and he spent as much time as possible outside whenever the weather permitted. They discovered all the best places to take long walks in the nearby countryside. Both of them found it necessary to buy sensible walking shoes and warmer coats. The angel also tried his hand at knitting woolen hats and scarves. The results were less than perfect, but Crowley still wore his because he couldn't stand up to Aziraphale's Bassett hound eyes. He grumbled about it any way. The villagers soon got used to seeing the red and black striped cap alongside the cream colored one with the large pompom on top.

Anathema and Newt's wedding was lovely. Madame Tracy, Sargeant Shadwell, the Them and their parents, plus Newt and Anathema's parents, were all invited. The cottage was decked out in evergreen branches, holly, ivy, and of course, mistletoe. Anathema's dress was forest green, high-necked, and tight waisted, with a flowing skirt. Newt wore dark brown trousers and a brown tweed blazer. Just before sunset, everyone walked down to the river where the pair exchanged their vows as the sun dipped below the horizon. The weather was miraculously mild for the season.

Afterward, Newt and Anathema lit torches and handed them to each other. They led the guests in a procession back up to Crowley and Aziraphale's garden where they used their torches to light the wood that had been prepared in a fire pit. Chairs for the guests had been set around the pit. The french doors to the library were left open with candles glowing inside. The middle of the room had been cleared for the tables of food and the wedding cake. There was an abundance of mulled wine and cider. Everyone ate and drank around the fire and enjoyed each other's company. 

As they were getting ready to go, just before they got into Newt's car, Anathema tossed her bouquet of dried heather over everyone's heads, to Crowley, who was standing back in the shadows. Everyone turned to look at him and a hush went over the group. The Demon walked solemnly up to Aziraphale, handed him the bouquet, and wrapped his arms around the angel's waist, drawing him close. "Aziraphale, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand, and all the rest of me, in marriage?"

"Oh, Crowley!" The angel sighed. The bouquet didn't make it through the subsequent crush. They missed seeing Anathema and Newt drive off.

\----------------------

The wheel of the year kept turning as it always does. Aziraphale had given Newt and Anathema two wedding gifts, Garden Spells, and the deed to the shop. There was no going back. Anathema repainted the exterior trim of the shop a deep shiny black. Large white letters over the door said "Eye of Newt." Underneath, smaller words proclaimed "Occult Services and Supplies." 

Crowley built his greenhouse, tended his garden, and for the first time ever, produced a crop of blisters and callouses on his hands. He was very proud of them and refused to let Aziraphale miraculously smooth them away. Instead, he bought the angel a wok and told him if he really wanted to be helpful, he could learn how to make a good stir fry. There were a few regrettable attempts until Aziraphale discovered the joys of youtube tutorials.

Every chance the angel got, he sat on a bench in the garden, reading a book and looking pretty. Crowley was definitely inspired by the sight.

On the first of May, when the apple tree was in full bloom, Crowley and Aziraphale were married in the garden. The lawn was sprinkled with yellow heartsease and wild hyacinth grew in clumps under the newly leafed trees. All their friends from the time that earth forgot,a few Soho acquaintances, and Doris, were invited. Crowley was in a beautifully tailored black suit, black button down and white necktie. ("I knew he was Mafia," thought Doris.)Aziraphale's suit was a creamy white jacket with matching trousers, white shirt and vest, and black bowtie. They each had a boutonniere of love-in-the-mist, from Crowley's flower beds, pinned to a lapel. 

Before the two came from opposite sides of the garden to meet in front of the apple tree, Anathema read a poem about May by Edmund Spencer, found in The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady:

"Then came fair May, the fairest maid on ground;  
Decked all with dainties of her season's pride,   
And throwing flowers out of her lap around;  
Upon two brethren's shoulders did she ride;  
The twins of Leda, which on either side,   
Supported her like to their sovereign queen,  
Lord! How all creatures laughed when her they spied;  
And leapt and danced as they had ravished been!  
And Cupid self about her fluttered all in green."

With Crowley's reluctant agreement, Aziraphale had decided to create their vows from the text of Song Of Songs, adapting the words to themselves. Crowley felt near to discorporating several times when he practiced his lines.

It began with Crowley: "Let me kiss you with the kisses of my mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine. I rejoice and delight in you. I will praise your love more than wine. How beautiful you are my darling. Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are like doves."

Aziraphale: "How handsome you are, my love! Oh, how charming! Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my love. I delight to sit in your shade, and your fruit is sweet to my taste. Your banner over me is love. Refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love."

Crowley: "Arise my beautiful one and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come. Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. 

(Crowley placed his twining silver serpent ring on Aziraphale's finger.)

Aziraphale: My love, you are radiant and ruddy, outstanding among ten thousand. Your mouth is sweetness itself. You are altogether lovely. You are my lover, my friend. I am yours and you are mine. 

(The angel placed his golden winged signet ring on Crowley's finger. They shared a soft lingering kiss. Some members of the audience sighed when it was over.)

Crowley, whose voice was having trouble working by this time: "The fragrance of your breath is like apples, your mouth like the best wine. On the day of my wedding, my heart rejoices."

Aziraphale: "May the wine go straight to you, my love. I belong to you. Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, unyielding as the grave. It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame."

Crowley turned to the guests: "All who dwell in the garden, friends in attendance, let me hear your voice!"

The guests, having been prompted by the wedding program, and led by Anathema's strong voice, said, "Eat, oh friends, and drink; drink your fill of love."

Crowley, heaved a visible sigh of relief. He made it through the whole thing without bursting into flames. He grinned at the angel and offered him his arm. Aziraphale gave him the most heart meltingly sweet smile, so that no one for miles around needed sugar in their tea for a whole week. They walked back toward the cottage with the applause of their guests, to the sound of Freddie Mercury singing, "You're my best friend."  
\---------------

Crowley and Aziraphale's years in the cottage were some of the happiest they ever knew. The house, like the Bentley, became almost sentient. It knew just the right temperature to keep Crowley comfortably warm. Windows and doors opened and closed when needed without being asked. Lights came on and off at the proper time of day, and the floors always looked well scrubbed. Aziraphale found he didn't mind laundry after all, because there wasn't much that needed to be washed the human way, besides bedsheets and Crowleys gardening coveralls. It was a small price to pay for Paradise. 

And on the days when atmospheric conditions were just right, the skinny red haired bloke and the soft, curly headed teddy bear might have been seen to be acting very strangely. 

"Care for a dance, angel?"  
"I'd love to, my dear."  
Snap!  
"Crowley!"

"Hold still, angel there's some lint on your ear."  
Crackle!  
"Crowley!!"

"Give us a kiss, angel."  
POP!  
"CROWLEY!"

\-----------

Though we don't like to think about it, everyone knows that all things come to an end eventually. There will come a day when Aziraphale and Crowley find they need to move on from the cottage because they cannot stop the wheel of time from taking away the people and things they grew to love. Do not feel sad for them, dear reader. True love binds them together for eternity. Their belief in each other has made them real. One day all the humans, and all their inventions, Famine, War, Pollution, Heaven, and Hell, will disappear. Even God and Death himself will no longer be needed. In that day, I would like to imagine that if there were any eyes left to see, the last sight would be a pair of ebony wings and a pair of snow white wings, firmly wrapped around each other, floating in a gentle purple glow that spread throughout the void. And if there were any ears left to hear, the last thing heard would be,

"I love you, angel."  
"I love you too, Crowley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This was the final chapter. It was all I had left in me. I cried. 
> 
> * Many, many thanks to those who left kudos and kept coming back for more. 
> 
> *Any updates will just be editing for typos.


End file.
